Catch Me in Castile (13 page)

“Martin, it’s me,” he said.

“Santiago? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure yet. Do you know Erin Carter?”

“No. Should I?”

Santiago exhaled his relief. “How about a Dr. Stapleton at UCLA?”

“John? Sure, he’s one of the best psychiatrists in the area. Why? What’s this all about?”

His heart sank. His suspicions about Erin’s mental state were true.

“What’s his specialty? Bipolar disorder? Schizophrenia?” He steeled himself for the worst.

“Insomnia, actually,” Martin said. “He’s been doing some radical experiments for sleep disorders.”

Santiago smiled. Insomnia he could deal with.

“Are you going to tell me why you called to talk about John after midnight your time? Santiago, what’s going on?”

“Sorry, Martin. Forget I called.”

“Right. Like I can. You’re worried, aren’t you?”

Santiago sat back hard against the motorcycle seat. The darkness. That was it. He was worried the thing cursing his family had gotten its bloody tentacles around Erin too. It was crazy. Wasn’t it?

“I told you,” Martin was saying. “We got it this time. I promise.”

Santiago winced. In his experience promises were broken. And people died. “You’re sure?”

“I performed all the tests five times each. We’re clear. So, relax, will ya? My advice to you is to get on with your life. Live a little.”

A vision of Erin’s beautiful, warm body came to mind. And a kiss, so delicious…

“Santiago? Are you there?”

“Thanks, Martin. I’m going to take your advice.”

Then I found the one. It was a cozy suite with a king-sized bed situated perfectly beneath glass ceilings. Stargazing took on a whole new meaning in a room like this. There was an adjoining suite for Santiago. I was not going to assume anything, especially after his mad flight down the mountain.

I ran the water and poured a packet of pear bubble bath into the tub. Sinking into the steamy water I let my thoughts drift. What a day. Beautiful, exhilarating, romantic. The bubbles rose, tickling and popping under my chin. The sweet smell of pear was divine. I closed my eyes and soaked in the hot water, reliving Santiago’s lips on mine.

Then I remembered the tower. Had I really heard a ghost?

I laughed out loud at myself. “Of course not.”

Santiago was right. I’d hyperventilated and fainted. End of story.

After the water cooled, I dried off, grimacing at my pile of dirty clothes. I didn’t want to think of putting them back on. In the closet, I found a thick white robe begging to wrap itself around me.

It had grown dark and I was getting sleepy. Maybe a little rest would do me some good. I left the bathroom light on so he could find me when he finally returned and I crawled into bed.

If
he returned. He’d been gone a really long time.

I bit my lip. What if he was having second thoughts about staying in the lodge with me? He’d acted pretty strangely after the kiss.

“Oh!” My voice echoed in the silent room. It was my turn to bolt up straight.

Maybe the kiss—the single most erotic experience I’d had in years—meant nothing to him. Did Spanish men kiss like Americans shook hands?
Nice to know ya, Erin
, nothing more.

I groaned, threw the sheet over my head. And quickly fell asleep.

Serena sits beside Clara in the antechamber of the
Sala del Trono
. The two girls are quietly working on their needlepoint while shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation occurring in the throne room.

“It is done, Beatriz. The Austrians have finally agreed,” Queen Isabel tells the Marquesa de Moya.

“It is settled? Princess Juana shall wed Felipe the Handsome of Austria?”

Clara wiggles her eyebrows at the mention of the infamous Felipe, whom the ladies of the court thought was beautiful beyond measure. Serena rolls her eyes up to the gilded ceiling.

“Praise be to the Virgin. I trust you will help me with the preparations?” The queen says.

“Of course. The wedding shall be here, in Segovia?”

“No. Felipe’s family is adamant the matrimonial ceremony occur on Austrian soil. Still, we shall celebrate. My daughter needs to feel how much the people of Castile adore her. She is a bit shaken about sailing to a foreign land.”

“We shall give her the grandest wedding ball ever,” Beatriz announces. “Leave it to me. I shall invite everyone.”

Clara tosses her head to the side as a gesture to sneak away. The two girls quietly tiptoe outside.

“Holy Madre! Did you hear that?” Clara turns in a circle and her skirts spin around her in a flash of pink. “A royal ball! I cannot wait.”

“The marquesa will allow you to attend?”

“Did you not hear her? She said everyone. You, too, my friend.” Clara claps her hands to her breast and spins around again.

“Me?” Serena’s heart pounds. “I suppose noblemen shall be invited?”

Clara laughs. “
Sí
. All shapes and sizes. I shall dance with them all. Well, perhaps not the ugly ones, unless they are rich.”

A knot twists in Serena’s belly.

“Aya, you are pale, Serena. Do not fear. I shall teach you how a real lady collects a gentleman. And despite my aunt’s admonishments, it has nothing to do with needlepoint and tapestries.”

Serena’s cheeks flame. “Do no such thing. I shall go to keep you company and watch the others.”

“What fun is that? You shall dance.”

“You are the lady-in-waiting noblemen will wish to dance with. I am a
señorita
with no dowry, remember?”

“How many times do you expect to be invited to a matrimonial ball? Enjoy the night for all it is worth. Besides, the noblemen will not know of your dowry unless you tell them. We will dress you in one of my fine gowns, or mayhap the seamstress will make you one for the occasion. Who knows, you could snare a wealthy nobleman after all.”

“I shan’t dance.”

Clara shrugs. “Suit yourself. But do not expect me to hide in the corner with you. I shall be on the floor dancing with every handsome and rich nobleman in the place.”

The days tick off one after another until Serena thinks she might die from the excitement. Finally, the night of the wedded ball arrives.

Not wanting to miss a moment of the festivities, Serena dresses quickly and hurries to find Clara. Rapping lightly on the chamber door, she hears Clara’s voice huffing from inside. “Holy Virgin! What is the matter with you? Can you not make this gown fit any better?”

“Sorry, my lady, your figure has bloomed since your last fitting,” a maid explains.

“Consider it a blessing,” another maid rushes on. “You should be happy to possess such womanly curves.”

“Would you be happy if my gown were to split open in front of the king and queen? By the devil, stop pinching me so.”

Serena knocks louder and then enters. “Can I assist?”

“Beloved saints, yes. Save me from this torture. Go on, you two.”

Serena cinches the gown tightly while Clara lifts her heavy breasts and adjusts them into place.

“Count your blessings. You do not have to fret about popping out of your gown.” Clara nods to the small mounds in Serena’s bodice. “It is a lovely gown, by the way. The head seamstress likes you. Never have I seen a more brilliant shade of blue. Your eyes sparkle brighter than sapphires.”

“I feel like a princess.”

“A princess would never wear her hair in that manner.”

“My hair?” Serena’s hand smoothes the long raven curls draping down her back.

“We need to lift it up as the maids have fixed mine. See?” Clara spins around and shows Serena the intricate updo. “Let me help you.”

Serena’s mouth drops. “I could never.”

“Ah, I see.” Clara squints. “You do not like the way my hair is done.”

“No—I mean, yes, I do. It is beautiful. I must wear mine down.”

Clara puts her hand on Serena’s arm. “The scar is what bothers you?” Serena’s hand cups her cheek in response. “Aya, Serena, no one cares one iota about a tiny line upon your countenance.”

Serena frowns. “Hardly tiny.”

“As you say, still, do you know what I see when I look at you?”

Serena shakes her head.

“A young lady with complexion the color of honey, full pink lips, a perfect straight nose, eyes as blue as the sky and long raven lashes. The ladies will have to shield their noblemen’s eyes when you enter the hall.”

“Me? You are the gorgeous one.”

“True. So true. Together we shall make them salivate like dogs.”

“That sounds truly awful. I am afraid of dogs.”

Clara laughs. “May I fix your hair?”

How can I escape without him seeing me? Holy Virgin, he comes this way.

She forgets entirely how to breathe when he strides up to her.

Pressing his hat to his chest, he bows. His deep voice washes over her. “What a vision. Serena de Avila, I am immensely pleased to see you here tonight.”

He seems wider of shoulders and fuller across the chest than she recalled. In their last meeting a young man flustered her, here before her, making the heat rise to her cheeks, is no boy.

Mustering all the courage she can, she curtsies. “Pleasure.”

“The lady speaks!” The brown eyes twinkle. “Will you honor me with a dance before the cock crows?”

She glances around the room at the beautifully dressed nobles moving gracefully to the music. Panic grips her. “I…I am afraid I cannot.” She throws her hands over her face. “I do not know how to dance.”

“Wonderful.”

She moves a finger to peek through.

“It shall be my honor to teach you. Come, we shall find a quiet place to begin the lessons.”

“Oh no. I do not think I can.”

“Certainly you can. And you shall.” He gently pulls her through the crowd to a secluded hallway. “This should do nicely.
Escuche
, we can hear the music, but no one shall be watching. Well?” His smile is radiant.

Why can she not stop shaking? It has been her secret desire to learn how to dance, yet she never dared hope her wish would come true. It is preposterous. And yet…

Blessed Saints! She imagines what it would be like to take his hand. A princess, a beautiful royal princess with her prince. Clara is right. When would she get this chance again?

“Son of the devil.” He slaps his forehead. “My apologies, Serena. Did my mother forbid you to dance?”

She blinks, her hand presses hard against her side. “No.”

“Ah, then I suppose you are only allowed to dance with men of your station?”

The truth stings like a slap across her face. She is no princess, no lady, simply a poor woman dressed up for one night. With no hope of ever being more to a nobleman like Andrés, her bottom lip quivers.

He slaps his thigh. “I have upset you. Again. I had hoped to make it up to you for my bad behavior the last time we met. What can I do?”

She swallows past the lump in her throat. “Your mother, the…the Marquesa de Moya, she—”

“I shall beg her not to be too strict with you. It is my fault you are here in the corridor with me. You shall not be punished on my account.”

She blinks. “You misunderstand. The marquesa said I could enjoy the festivities.”

He grins. “What good fortune for me.”

“But as you have suggested, Marques, it is best I return to my station.” Sadly, she turns on her heel.

He grabs her elbow. “No. Wait, please stay, Serena.” His eyes have lost the amused sparkle. “I would be honored if you remained. Please?”

Her mouth drops. He really wants her to stay? She cannot fathom why.

“If it is your wish,” Serena whispers.

“It is.” He claps his hands together. “I promise this will be enjoyable. I shall teach you all the
baixas
and
ioyosos
I know.

Something inside her quivers. A want, akin to hunger, pulls in her lower belly and tingles in her back and legs. She has never experienced such a feeling.

“Do not fret.” He smiles self-confidently. “They are easy.”

“Why?” She asks.

“
Perdón
?” His brows furrow.

“Why spend time with me? There are many gorgeous noble ladies in the ballroom who already know how to dance.”

The grin spreads and his dimples deepen. “I want to be with you, is that not reason enough? Come. Let us dance.”

She takes a deep breath and places her hand in his.

“Dancing is not difficult,” he explains. “Listen to the music. Feel it in your bones? Your blood?”

She nods. Is it the music making her blood run so hot and her mind spin?

“Just follow me. Do what I do.”

To her delight, dancing is easier than she expected. The
baixas
he shows her are fun. Soon she is able to do them without tripping over her own feet.

“I think we are ready. Shall we?”

All she can do is nod and follow him onto the crowded dance floor. Andrés stands in front of her, holding her left hand while her right holds the hand of the person next to her. Long step, short step, long step again, all leading with the left foot, the dancers circle around the floor following the leader.

Andrés’s voice lifts over the music. “You are doing well. Good, curtsy to the left, now the right. Terrific.”

The dancers applaud once the music ends.

“Serena, you are a natural.” Andrés bows to her. “Now it is time for the
ioyosos
. I shall understand if you do not wish to try them. They are a bit more intricate. The nobleman and his lady dance together without the group line.”

“Yes, I would love to dance the
ioyosos
with you. That is—” she composes herself, “—if you desire it so.”

When he smiles she feels a tightening in her belly—both painful and pleasurable. Her heart beats faster and she longs for him to smile at her again. He leads her to the middle of the dance floor where nobles are already moving to the music.

Many of the ladies wear long gloves. Serena is grateful her hands are bare. She likes feeling Andrés’s hand in hers as they dip and sway toward one another. Her cheeks ache from smiling. She cannot take her eyes off the man grinning encouragement back at her.

A mist filters into the hall through the open doors. It creeps low across the dance floor like an evil presence. Menacing, dark, cold. The dancers keep moving, chopping the rising vapor with their feet. It grows thicker, undaunted.

Serena and Andrés do not take notice of the fog or the dancers rushing off the floor. They gaze into each other’s eyes and fall in love.

The dance floor fades away. The ballroom disappears. It is just the two of them swaying slowly to the plucking of a lone harpsichord. The mist rises around them, growing thicker and thicker until they are completely enveloped.

And gone.